Ten Guilty Men (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 3)

by Sean Campbell

  He yawned, stretched languorously and looked around the hotel room. This is so much better than prison. Gabby had picked well. It was upmarket but discreet, with a large bed, soft pillows and all the anonymity of a big chain.

  Nice view too. Paddy looked across the room towards Gabby. She was dressed in only a bathrobe, and sat next to the telephone. She twirled the cord of the phone around her fingers as she spoke: ‘Three Sundays? I understand. And you can’t do it any sooner?’

  Paddy snatched up the complimentary pen and paper by the nightstand. He wrote down a message and then held it up for her to read. ‘When?’

  Gabriella waved him off, and continued to talk into the receiver. ‘We can’t. We’ll only be able to make it up for the one day. Four weeks from tomorrow? The Tuesday morning? That’s fine with us. No, no, no. We won’t need any of that. Thank you. We’ll see you then.’

  Paddy smiled. ‘Is it done?’

  ‘It is. Now get out. Take the fire escape, and go. I can’t have anyone know we were here. You know I’m not supposed to talk to you.’

  Reluctantly, Paddy rose, pulled on his clothes then kissed her goodbye.

  Chapter 61: The Old Bailey

  It took the better part of thirteen weeks to make it as far as the Old Bailey. It was properly called the Central Criminal Court, but nobody ever used that name.

  To Morton, it seemed a fitting place for the sorry saga of Ellis DeLange to end. It was a bright sunny day when Morton decided to sit in. Lady Justice, gilded in bronze, was on fire atop the roof. Something about the Old Bailey felt weighty, important and yet full of hope that justice would be served. Perhaps it was the inscriptions dotted around the Grand Hall. Poise the cause in justice’s equal scales was Morton’s favourite.

  Yet in this case, justice really did hang in the balance. Morton didn’t buy Kieran’s theory that the two half-sisters had colluded. The animosity between them seemed far too ingrained to be an act. If Morton were right, and he usually was, then justice would be hard pressed to deal with two defendants, one guilty and one innocent, each accused on the same set of facts.

  Attending court at the Old Bailey wasn’t like going to just any old Crown Court. There were superficial differences, like dealing with the inevitable queues and heightened security amidst the tourists, but there were substantive differences too.

  The Aldermen of the City were entitled to attend court, though Morton had never seen one as far as he knew. More strangely still, the judges sat off centre. He had asked Kieran why this was, and had been told that it was so that, if he so chose, the Lord Mayor could sit in judgement in the centre chair.

  Morton wasn’t sure if Kieran was having him on or not, but chose to believe the story. He never could tell when the lawyer was telling the truth, and it appeared that the jury couldn’t either. They were watching Kieran, transfixed, as he turned to give his opening statement.

  ‘The defendants, Gabriella Curzon and Brianna Jackson, are charged with the murder of Ellis DeLange. Over the course of this trial, I will demonstrate that Miss Curzon and Miss Jackson conspired to ensure they were alone with the victim on the night of her thirtieth birthday. You will hear how they planted half-truths in order to conceal where they were, and who they were with. Miss Curzon and Miss Jackson attempted to use friends and acquaintances to muddy the waters, and paint the victim’s boyfriend, Kallum Fielder, as the killer.’ Kieran paused, and looked at each juror in turn.

  ‘Three million pounds. That is how much Ellis DeLange was worth at the time of her death. Her full-blood sister, Brianna Jackson, is set to inherit that money. What you may not know is that both the women in the dock today are related to the victim. Gabriella Curzon is half-sister to both her co-defendant and the victim. All three of them have the same father.’

  Kieran shot a nasty glance at the defence table where Elliot Morgan-Bryant and Genevieve Hollis sat.

  ‘The defendants and their lawyers will be raising a simple defence. They will each argue that the other is responsible in the hope that you will be confused as to who is guilty and who is not. Make no mistake. This is a sham. The defendants conspired to set up Kallum Fielder. They were both in the house when Ellis was murdered, and they both stand to gain from Ellis’ death. I would ask that you keep an open mind as you listen to witnesses, read the police reports and examine the evidence. Do so with a critical mind, and I am sure you will come to the same conclusion that I have: it is clear that the sisters worked together to plan the murder of Ellis DeLange. It matters not which sister struck Ellis the fateful blow. This is a joint enterprise, and both are responsible for her death. Do not allow them to profit from it.’ Kieran sat back down. Game on.

  Genevieve Hollis stood. Her style was nothing like Kieran’s. Where he was loud, enigmatic and expressive, Hollis was much more reserved. When she spoke, it was soft, almost too quiet, and yet it carried throughout the courtroom and to the public gallery above.

  ‘My client, Gabriella Curzon, is an innocent woman. The prosecution has asked that you consider all the evidence you will hear with a critical mind. Do so and you will see that none of the evidence that the prosecution intends to introduce proves my client did anything other than attend a party. She had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is no evidence. None. The prosecution can demonstrate that Gabriella was in the house on the night of the party. She doesn’t deny that. They will assert that this opportunity to commit murder implies that Gabriella is guilty.’

  Hollis turned to look at the dock where Gabriella and Brianna sat, separated by a screen.

  ‘The prosecution have suggested that Gabriella worked with Brianna to plan Ellis’ murder. They can’t prove that either – because she didn’t do it. The only thing you will hear is that they could have done it together. The only thing that matters is that they didn’t. My client is related by blood to Miss Jackson. That is the only link they have. The prosecution will not be able to demonstrate any tangible proof that Miss Jackson and Miss Curzon conspired – because they didn’t. The standard in this trial is beyond reasonable doubt. If you have any qualms then you must do justice by my client, and by the victim whose real killer would walk free if you convict an innocent woman. Do justice and vote to acquit.’

  Morton squirmed in his seat. Hollis was an effective lawyer. The evidence was entirely circumstantial, and Kieran would have a hard time convincing the jury that he was right.

  Chapter 62: Scapegoat

  The jury’s excitement was palpable in the courtroom. After days of police reports and forensic detail they were finally going to see the famous Kallum Fielder in court.

  ‘The prosecution calls Kallum Fielder,’ Kieran said.

  The door to the court opened, and the usher led Kallum through to the witness box, where he stood to be sworn in.

  Kal opted to affirm rather than swear on a bible. ‘I do solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’

  ‘Mr Fielder, tell us about what happened to your wallet on the night of the murder,’ Kieran said.

  ‘I left my wallet upstairs in Eli’s bedroom on the bedside cabinet, and then I went downstairs to greet guests. A little later on, we decided to send someone out for pizza so I went upstairs to get my wallet, and it was empty.’

  ‘How much was in it?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds.’

  ‘What did you think had happened to it?’

  ‘I thought Eli had taken it. I asked another guest, Aleksander Barchester, to cover the cost of the pizza and then I asked Eli if I could have a word in private.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘We fought. I thought she’d taken the money. I mean, who else could have? It was in her bedroom.’

  ‘Did she?’

  Kal shook his head. ‘No. It was a set-up. Brianna and Gabriella took the money to provoke an argument. I didn’t know that at the time. They argued about it at the funera
l.’

  ‘How did that affect you?’

  ‘I’ve been a wreck. The last night of Eli’s life, and we argued over pizza money. And the police thought I’d killed her at first.’ Kal turned to the jury. ‘I loved her. I just wish I’d never left her alone that night. ‘

  Kieran nodded. He barely resisted the urge to thank his witness. Kal was perfect. ‘No further questions.’

  Elliot Morgan-Bryant leapt to his feet. ‘Mr Fielder, where do you currently reside?’

  ‘HMP Wandsworth.’

  ‘Is that a recent change?’

  ‘You know it is. You were my lawyer.’

  The jury laughed uncomfortably.

  ‘You presented a fraudulent will in an attempt to steal Ellis’ estate?’

  Kal hung his head. ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘No further questions.’

  The judge, an elderly white man (for weren’t they all) by the name of Heenan turned to the defence table. ‘Miss Hollis?’

  ‘Nothing for this witness, My Lord.’

  Chapter 63: Betrayal

  ‘The prosecution calls Francis Patrick Malone.’

  Paddy was led in by the usher. This time, the jury weren’t so star-struck and paid him little attention as the usher produced a bible. He handed it to Paddy, who immediately handed it back.

  ‘Would you prefer to affirm rather than swear in?’ the usher asked.

  Paddy grinned, revealing a crooked smile full of discoloured teeth. ‘I’d prefer to be in the pub.’

  The usher spun towards the judge, unsure how to respond.

  ‘Mr Malone, is there a problem?’ Heenan asked.

  ‘No problem, My Lord, but I ain’t testifying today.’

  Kieran glanced towards the public gallery, searching for Morton. He tried desperately not to look at the jury lest they see him panic. What the hell is going on?

  ‘Mr Malone, you’ve been summoned as a witness for the prosecution. If you don’t testify, I will hold you in contempt of court.’

  Before Kieran could remind Paddy that they had a deal, and that breaking it would send him back to prison too, Morgan-Bryant stood and cleared his throat.

  ‘My Lord, Mr Malone cannot be compelled to testify today,’ Morgan-Bryant said.

  ‘Why the hell not?’ Kieran demanded.

  ‘Mr O’Connor, watch your language in my courtroom. Lawyers aren’t immune from being held in contempt,’ Heenan said. He turned towards Morgan-Bryant. ‘And why can’t Mr Malone be compelled to testify?’

  ‘Because–’

  ‘My Lord,’ Kieran interrupted. ‘Perhaps we should do this without the jury present?’ This has to be an ambush.

  ‘Agreed. Bailiff, escort the jury back to the jury room please,’ Heenan ordered. The jury stood and filed out slowly. Each juror bore a look of confusion, and stared at Kieran as they traipsed out. Kieran ignored them, and kept his eyes forward in the hope they wouldn’t recognise his panic.

  ‘And then on your return, could you empty the public gallery too please?’ Heenan called after the bailiff, who turned to nod in acknowledgement.

  Once they were alone in the courtroom, Heenan took off his wig and scratched his head. ‘What is going on here? Patrick Malone has been on the witness list since the beginning of the trial. Mr O’Connor, is he or is he not your witness?’

  ‘He was, My Lord.’

  ‘Then what’s going on?’ Heenan looked towards the defence table.

  ‘Mr Malone cannot be compelled to testify against Gabriella Curzon,’ Morgan-Bryant said.

  ‘Because?’

  Morgan-Bryant grinned. ‘Because they’re man and wife.’

  ‘What?’ Kieran bellowed. ‘This is outrageous!’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Heenan said. ‘When did this occur?’

  ‘Six weeks ago, My Lord,’ Morgan-Bryant said.

  ‘While she was on bail! Why weren’t we notified?’ Kieran asked.

  ‘Her private life is no concern of yours.’

  ‘Like hell it’s not!’ Kieran yelled. ‘She was ordered by this court not to contact any witnesses. I think marrying one counts as contact!’

  ‘I agree,’ Heenan said. ‘Your client will be remanded into custody for breach of her bail conditions. Mr O’Connor, do you have any submissions regarding Mr Malone’s compellability?’

  Kieran paused. I haven’t had a chance to research that. I bet Morgan-Bryant has though. ‘Yes, My Lord,’ he said. ‘This is clearly a sham marriage–’

  ‘It’s not,’ Morgan-Bryant said bluntly.

  ‘Of course it is! She doesn’t love him.’

  ‘What does love have to do with it? You said it was a sham marriage. My Lord, a sham marriage is an immigration law term pursuant to section twenty-four subsection five of the Immigration Act 1990 which says that a sham marriage is a marriage entered into to avoid immigration rules. Both Francis Malone and Gabriella Curzon are British nationals, therefore it can’t legally be a sham marriage. And even if it were a sham marriage, a sham marriage is still a marriage. Mr Malone is not compellable.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Kieran said, before he could help himself.

  ‘Mr O’Connor, you were warned. That’s three times. I’m finding you in contempt.’

  ‘You should find opposing council in contempt,’ Kieran spat. ‘Mr Malone and Miss Curzon didn’t come up with this charade on their own.’

  Morgan-Bryant pointed a finger at him. ‘Careful. You don’t want a slander lawsuit as well.’

  ‘My Lord, this is a flagrant abuse of the protection married couples enjoy. They’re not in love!’

  ‘That doesn’t matter, My Lord,’ Morgan-Bryant said. ‘The protection extends to those who are separated and those about to divorce as well as every other married couple. They are legally man and wife. Mr Malone cannot be compelled to testify.’

  ‘I agree. It is not for the courts to determine the strength of a romantic relationship, but merely to ascertain whether or not the parties are married. Plenty of married couples no longer love each other.’ Heenan unconsciously rubbed at his own wedding ring.

  ‘My Lord, Francis Patrick Malone agreed to testify. He was granted immunity in return for his testimony today–’

  ‘Then you’ll have to revoke it, won’t you?’ Heenan said. ‘Mr Malone will not be compelled to testify today. Call your next witness.’

  Kieran fumed. ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Then rest your case.’

  Genevieve Hollis leapt to her feet, and took the opportunity to stick the knife in by making a half-time submission of ‘no case to answer’. ‘My Lord, if it may please the court, the defence would assert that there is no case to answer here. The evidence laid out by the prosecution is insufficient for any jury, properly directed, to find a guilty verdict.’

  It was a good try, and Hollis had little to lose by making it. If Heenan agreed, then the case would end before she had to present the defence case.

  It didn’t work.

  ‘Nice try Miss Hollis, and a clever piece of sharp practice, but I cannot grant your request. There’s more than enough evidence to proceed, with or without Mr Malone. You’ll have to make your case to the jury. Motion denied.’

  I’ve lost the battle, but the war isn’t over yet. Kieran nodded his thanks to the judge.

  Chapter 64: The Reason Why

  Mitch Palmer sat at one end of the large table in the jury room. Seconds after they had been dismissed, the jurors had broken off into three smaller social groups. The older women were leaning against the far window discussing God-knows-what, while ‘his’ group occupied the main table.

  They were an eclectic bunch. Six men, six women. Seven white, three black and two Asian. Housewives and students, stockbrokers and janitors. All of them stuffed into a tiny jury box for weeks on end.

  He could still smell the janitor’s body odour now. The man had been sat behind him the entire time, but it seemed he had yet to discover aftershave.

  Across the table from Mitch, a mo
therly-looking teacher by the name of Beebie, who was also the forewoman, nursed a cup of tea with one flabby arm cradled around the plate of biscuits provided for the whole jury.

  ‘Hey, Beebie, quit hogging the biscuits.’

  ‘You shut your face. Always moaning, you are. Let Beebie have her custard creams. You know she’s got diabetes. She needs the sugar,’ Beebie referred to herself in the third person. A peculiar habit, affected, he thought to make herself appear grander, or maybe to make her fellow jurors feel like children.

  ‘They’re not your biscuits, Beebie. They’re for all of us. Don’t make me go get the bailiff again.’

  ‘Fine. But first, you tell me what you think. You been sitting there listening to the rest of us. Why did they send that Paddy home?’

  Mitch leant back in his chair. He had no idea. But the jurors had come to regard him as something of the leader, and he didn’t want to show his ignorance. ‘I’m not horse-trading just to get my own biscuits.’

  ‘You just don’t know.’

  Mitch was saved from answering by the creak of the jury room door. Beebie jumped to her feet, and Mitch took the opportunity to lean forward to snatch a biscuit, but Beebie swatted away his hand.

  The bailiff stepped through. ‘You’re done for the day. But His Lordship wants a word first. Follow me please.’

  ***

  Later that night, in his apartment near the Silicon Roundabout, Mitch searched for news about the case online. An article popped up immediately.

  ‘NOTHING SACRED: HOW GABRIELLA CURZON MARRIED FOR MONEY – BUT NOT IN THE WAY YOU THINK’

  Mitch clicked through to the article. ‘The case of Ellis DeLange’s murder took an unexpected turn today when one of the defendants announced that she had married the prosecution’s chief witness, which prevented him from having to testify against her...’

  Chapter 65: Cut-Throat

  Hollis stood stock-still. She had a folder full of notes nestled in her left arm, and faced the witness box where a very nervous Alex Culloden alternated between watching the press in the public gallery and biting his nails.